


For Fun and Games

by redwinehouse (orphan_account)



Series: Cranial Capacity INDEFINITE HIATUS, BUT A FULL STORY LINE WAS COMPLETED [22]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, F/M, Humor, Infidelity, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/redwinehouse
Summary: The affair has caused internal conflict with everyone involved. As Sherlock contemplates why you cheated, James Moriarty dissects his involvement piece by piece in order to keep his place on the throne. Unfortunately, this game waits for no man and continues to play as Sherlock slowly spirals out of control.





	For Fun and Games

  


[ ](http://www.dazzlejunction.com/generators/image-generator.php)

  


Sherlock watched you sleep, something that he had grown to love over the years. He had increasingly found it hard to sleep himself, so he partook in one of the simple things that was still able to make him smile. Your face was so relaxed and peaceful, the moonlight making your skin glow softly. He watched your eyelids flutter as you dreamed. Sherlock smiled softly, wondering what you were dreaming about. He reached over to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, but he pulled back. 

What were you truly dreaming of? _Who_ were you dreaming of? The thought made his heart lurch and he clenched a fist. Grinding his teeth, Sherlock turned from you and lay on his back. He had meant what he had said to you; he still loved you and he did forgive you, but that didn’t take away the pain. If Sherlock Holmes wasn’t Sherlock Holmes, the master of hiding emotions, he would look like an absolute wreck. That being said, he was still very much an absolute wreck. 

He felt like he was drowning. The water filled his lungs and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, and he couldn’t even scream – which was what he wanted to do the most if he was to be entirely truthful. He loved you. You were the most clever, caring, loving, woman in the world and yet you somehow wound up with his anti-social, rude, pompous, albeit genius, self. 

Sherlock grimaced. He really was pompous. 

That aside, you were absolutely perfect. _“There’s no such thing as perfection,”_ says the public. 

No. shut up. You were perfect. 

So _why_ did you cheat on him? Sherlock’s finger tips touched as he stared at the ceiling. You had said it had something to do with academic stimulation, which was something he had never heard before. Granted, Sherlock knew nothing about relationships. He knew about you and him, and anything outside of that was sheer nonsense. Even so, he knew that the excuse you gave him was irregular, if not bizarre. He was certainly manic enough to keep you on your toes, so why did you need to look elsewhere? 

Sherlock’s chest tightened. Maybe you thought he was a bad father because he still hadn’t closed Jane Doe and found Jade. He hadn’t caught James Moriarty, the spider that was wrapping him in his web and slowly drinking out his life’s blood. He promised Sherlock that he would break him, and he was certainly making a good dent just by shrapnel alone. 

Sherlock had promised you that your family would be safe as long as he was there, but Jade was taken and you were assaulted right before his eyes…and he did absolutely nothing. He fought as hard as he could to get to you, but the three men had overpowered him. When he and John were dragged out and you were left with Moriarty, he had been absolutely beside himself. Sherlock had left you alone, and that meant you weren’t safe. 

Sherlock pressed the heels of his hands against eyes. That’s why you had fallen into another man’s arms. What kind of man can’t protect his own family? Whoever this person may be, he must have something more. You would never do something careless. There was something he was giving you that he wasn’t, and it started to become clearer that he really had failed you. 

He turned to you. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

~*~ 

Things have been kind of _weird_ for James Moriarty, which in itself was _weird_ because his whole existence was _weird_. He had recently found himself more satisfied with life, like he was doing something with a purpose. It was like he was no longer in some stasis of wretched dullness. This was a feeling he had since he was a child; he had chased anything that would finally wake him up and make existence interesting. Money laundering, murder, robbery? Check! He would never get his hands dirty, of course. He was the puppeteer, the dominate one who manipulated the marionettes in whatever way he wanted. 

And that was what made everything so _weird_ for Moriarty at the moment. He was having an absolute blast torturing Sherlock Holmes, making him chase a dunce murderer all over London and picking up dead doppelgangers of his kid. The DNA was going to lead him to a dead end named Blake, and the marionettes will continue to dance from there. But there was one that had some broken strings. 

You. 

You were supposed to be a bargaining chip, a hostage, something to be used against Sherlock. You were supposed to kill him. But then _you fucking kissed him._ James Moriarty was always the one in control, and he went into that flat as a king, but you had completely thrown him off the thrown. He would have killed you if he wasn’t such a narcissist, and more importantly, a man - biologically, of course. He was more than an average man. Average men don’t rule the world. It certainly helped that you were rather pretty, but that had never been a problem in the past. 

It was ignorant to think James Moriarty had feelings that went beyond himself, but there was certainly a passionate obsession. Psychopaths were well known to be quite passionate lovers, but only until their target submited to them. Then it’s just booooring. 

But you hadn’t done that because you were _weird._ You seemed to think yourself as the dominate one and looked down on him. He had screwed you in an alley, called you a whore, and you were still dismissive. That was just _weird._ You wanted to use _him_. Moriarty decided he really liked _weird_. It was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to him. Did he like you? 

He hadn’t been joking with his dog metaphor. But you were like…Lassie, the dog that could tell you that Timmy fell down the well. A dog superhero, if you will. If something happened to you, he would be pretty irritated, but nothing more. He certainly wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through your head if you stopped him from getting what he wanted, but he would appreciate it if that didn’t happen. 

Moriarty needed you to kneel and he wouldn’t leave you alone until he did. 

~*~ 

Sherlock literally leaped out of bed that morning and dragged John out of his by the ankle. 

”What are you doing, you maniac!?” John shouted from the floor, but Sherlock had already left the room. 

”We need to get to the Scotland Yard and see if we have a DNA match and we need to go _now_.” There was no time for lollygagging; today was the day that he could solve Jane Doe and hopefully redeem himself in your eyes. He needed to catch Moriarty and he needed to do it _today_ , come hell or high water. He was going to put a bullet between his eyes, throw him in jail, get him on death row...Sherlock couldn’t even decide what was better. Whatever it was, he was going to do it. He had failed you once and he would not do it again. 

By the time you and John had made your way downstairs, Sherlock was fully dressed and pacing at the front door. 

“What are you looking at? Put your shoes on,” he snapped at John. The army doctor raised his hands in surrender and went to get his shoes. It was unsaid that Sherlock was allowed to get away with literally anything today. 

Looking absolutely murderous, Sherlock turned to you so fast that you were surprised that he didn’t get whiplash. “You are breaking it off with that man today, yes?” 

You felt the heat spread across your cheeks, remembering that Sherlock knew about your affair. You looked away, unable to look him in the eye. “Yes.” 

Sherlock took your chin and turned your face, forcing you to look at him. You saw pain. Sadness and pain. “I do not trust you, and I will call you. If you don’t pick up, I will assume the worst. Do you understand?” he said the last part quietly. You nodded and Sherlock kissed your forehead. He turned to John and flipped his collar up. “Let’s go.” 

The two men rushed down the stairs at break neck speed and burst through the door of 221B. Sherlock immediately hailed a cab and practically threw himself in when one stopped. 

”Oh, god. No, no. Get out,” the cabbie they had previously seen twice ordered, “I’ve had enough of you.” 

”My daughter has been kidnapped and we need to go to the Scotland Yard _now_ or I will shoot your bloody face off!" Sherlock grabbed the back of the driver’s seat and started giving it a good shake. 

”NO! NO!” John said desperately, trying to descatelate the situation. “He doesn’t have a gu-“ 

Sherlock’s hand was almost invisible as he drew out a pistol and clicked off the safety. He pressed it against the back of the cabbie’s head. 

”SHERLOCK, ARE YOU INSANE!?” John yelled. 

”DRIVE!” Sherlock yelled louder, kicking the front seat. 

They made pretty good time. 

~*~’ 

”Get _out_ of my way,” Sherlock growled, shoving Anderson into a bin. Head of the forensics his arse. “Everyone out!” Sherlock shouted. The entire Scotland Yard’s forensic team looked at each other awkwardly. Sherlock Holmes couldn’t order all of them out…could he? 

“You can’t tell my guys what to do!” Anderson seemed to have recovered from his trip in rubbish city. 

Sherlock clenched his fists and strode over to Anderson until he was merely a centimeter from his face. “You are an absolute black hole of cognitive function. You suck basic logic and intelligence out of every room you walk into. You are a terrorist to the progression of human knowledge. My six-month-year old daughter can run circles around you, and she can be entertained by a piece of paper for hours. You are literally the most asinine person I have ever had the displeasure to meet, and I hate everyone. So just get out before I shoot you.” 

Anderson could only stand there in shock. 

“He really does have a gun,” John added. 

Still recovering from the biggest verbal beating of his life, Anderson wordlessly beckoned everyone to follow him out. In a minute, Sherlock and John were alone. 

Sherlock gave a satisfied sigh. “You don’t know how much I've wanted to say that.” he sat himself at the computer and set up the STR sample. “Let’s see the man behind the madness,” Sherlock said softly, pressing ENTER. 

The computer compared their sample's genotype with the samples of anyone who had been arrested by the Scotland Yard. Sherlock tapped his fingers nervously. James Moriarty seemed like the type of person who was too smart to get caught. It was very possible that they wouldn’t get a match, but he needed hardcore proof or else they couldn't move forward. 

Just as Sherlock had given up hope, a face popped up. 

“That was not what I expected,” John said, leaning closer to get a look at the man who looked nothing like Moriarty. “He looks so thick.” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he read, “Blake Foster, arrested for the murder of his own daughter in 1997 but got off due to a mistrial.” Sherlock leaned back and furrowed his brow. “Everyone on the prosecution team died.” 

“What the hell?” John asked bewildered. “That seems a little convenient.” 

Fingers steepled, Sherlock hummed in agreement. “Yes, I believe someone was looking out for our little Blake.” 

“Why?” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 

John snapped a finger. “A stupid man who is sick enough to kill his own kid makes a pretty good patsy.” 

“Precisely.” 

“What the _hell_ do you think you are doing?” Greg Lestrade demanded, striding into the room like a bat out of hell. 

“Finding my missing child,” Sherlock said coolly, spinning his chair around. “I would think you would support such an action, Giovanni.” 

Lestrade grit his teeth. “I do, but verbally assaulting my head of forensics and then ordering all of my other employees out, slowing down our work day, is something I _do not support_.” 

The corner of Sherlock’s lip quirked. “But Gus, I always heard that ‘the truth shall set you free.’” 

By then, Lestrade’s face had gone tomato red. He jabbed a finger in Sherlock’s face. “You are _so_ lucky that you don’t officially work for me and that you are the only one who can do your job.” his attention turned to the screen. “Blake Francis?” Lestrade’s anger seemed to have drained some. “What does he have to do with any of this?” 

Sherlock pivoted back to the computer. “His DNA was found on one of the victim’s bodies.” 

Lestrade’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, we’ll get an APB up on him now.” 

“I’m not interested in him.” 

“What? You just said you found his DNA on the bodies?” Lestrade gestured to the screen, “That is your guy!” 

Sherlock looked over at John, seeing if he wanted to tell him about Moriarty. He shook his head. 

“We have a theory that he might be working under someone else. Blake is just a minion carrying out orders. Obviously you should still arrest him.” 

Lestrade put a hand on his hip and sighed. “But you have no other proof about this orchestrator other than a theory?” 

“Not yet,” Sherlock answered. 

“How long do you think it will take to figure out who this guy is?” Lestrade huffed when Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. “You know, you’re being incredibly passive about this. You would normally be chomping at the bit.” When he earned another shrug from Sherlock, Lestrade let out an aggravated sigh. 

Sherlock gestured to the door with his chin. “You should go run that APB.” 

With a shake of his head, Lestrade left. 

It could not have been five minutes after the ABP was put out that Lestrade got a phone call. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi. A little birdy told me you were looking for Blake Francis?” 

Lestrade sat up and leaned forward. “Who is this? Are you in law enforcement?” 

“Doesn’t matter and _super_ no.” 

Lestrade began to fervently wave over the nearest person. He put his hand over the receiver. “Trace this call.” 

The woman nodded and started to work furiously on the computer next to him, looking for the cell tower the caller was nearest to. 

Lestrade had to keep this person on the phone as long as he could. “Why would we need to look for Blake Francis?” 

The person over the phone snorted. “You’re not going to track this. He’s at Speedy’s, right next to 221 Baker Street. Ironic, huh? Hopefully see you _neveeeeeeeeeer!_ ” and the line was cut. 

~*~ 

Lestrade had relayed everything to Sherlock and he knew immediately that the caller was Moriarty. The man was currently on the move, and that made him anxious. Now was a good time as any to call you. Pressing on your name, he put his phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” you picked up after several rings, something that was a little off putting. 

“Where are you? What are you doing?” There was a moment of silence and Sherlock knew he had hurt your feelings, but you had brought that upon yourself. 

“Breaking it off,” you said. 

Sherlock’s chest tightened and he must have noticeably stiffened, because John leaned forward. 

Sherlock held up a hand. “Are you okay?" he shifted in his seat. "Is he there?” he asked, his voice deep. Before you could answer, his phone beeped. Holding it away from his face, he saw that he had a text message. 

_55.61061°N 4.37279°W_

_For fun and games_

_-JM_

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it. The cab driver might be my favorite character.
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to everyone. This series has a solid hit count, and all the kudos, comments, and quiet reads honestly mean a lot. I have so much fun writing this, so it makes me very happy to see that there are people who regularly check back. 
> 
> I'm a very cynical person, grumpy person, so this is always a little bright light.
> 
> <3


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